


The Eyes Have It

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, Belle in Hyperion Heights, F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle is Hope, Season 7 AU, Woven Beauty, anyem cameos, by the dozen, cursed rumbelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: Seeing the same familiar blue eyes in several different circumstances, Weaver is beginning to think that the universe is trying to tell him something. Izzie from the coffee shop might just hold the key… Woven Beauty / Cursed Rumbelle.Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: Falling in love in a coffee shop, and my contribution to @rumbelleishope.





	The Eyes Have It

Although various copyrights prevented Sleepless Beauty Coffee Shop from proclaiming itself to server Seattle’s best coffee, its regulars in Hyperion Heights were all of the unanimous opinion that it was far superior to any chain brand.

Weaver was no exception and he had been coming to Sleepless Beauty for his first cup of the day for as long as he could remember. Probably for as long as he had been on the force.

Funny how he could never quite recall the circumstances of him becoming a detective.

For as long as he had been coming here, Izzie had been serving him. Not only did she know his coffee order by heart, she knew his routine well enough to have it ready for him when he came in. Even when he started bringing in his own mug (Tilly had been on at him about the environment), she could always anticipate his arrival and be ready to pluck his cup from his hands and fill it with the heavenly caffeinated mana that only she could make in just the right way.

Izzie’s shifts always seemed to line up with his own. If he ever went into the shop at any other time for any other reason, he could always guarantee that Izzie would be there. If he hadn’t walked her home after closing one night, he’d be convinced that she lived in the place.

Weaver wasn’t sure when they had become such close friends. Sometimes it seemed like it had always been that way. He couldn’t remember their first meeting, which always struck him as odd because Izzie’s appearance was comparatively distinctive and surely, his first impression of her would have stuck in his mind. She had a stark silver streak in her dark hair; her colleagues called her Rogue and she always smiled at the comparison even as she protested that she was old enough to know better. Then there were her glasses, always tinted against the lights that gave her migraines. Weaver could never really tell what colour her eyes were, and he didn’t know why finding out was so important to him.

At least, that’s what he told himself. Deep down, or really, not so deep down despite how much he tried not to think about it, Weaver knew exactly why he was so intrigued by Izzie’s eyes.

_You live so long you see the same eyes in different people._

For all it was a pop culture quote, Weaver thought that it summed up his situation quite well. The same eyes kept haunting him, following him through his life, and whenever he saw them, there was the same sense of familiarity. It was as if the universe was trying to tell him something.

The first time it happened was a fair afternoon in early fall. Weaver would always remember the day because Izzie had worn flowers in her hair that day to try and preserve the last traces of their dying Indian summer, and they’d still looked fresh and pristine when he’d come into Sleepless Beauty after closing to tell her about his strange encounter.

It should have been a fairly average working day, and it had been up until the pregnant woman named Claire Littleton had come in to talk about having been taxi-jacked the day before. The crime was unusual in itself for a place like Hyperion Heights, but there was something about her that seemed familiar. It was only later he had realised that it was her eyes, after she had gone into labour whilst sitting at his desk and a couple of female officers had whisked her away towards the hospital, never to step foot in his life again. He was certain that he had seen her eyes before somewhere.

Izzie shrugged when he relayed the events of the day to her, her hands curling around her own coffee mug. She’d been sweeping the floor ready to lock up and leave for the night, duly abandoning the task in favour of sitting with him and hearing his tale.

“The world is a big place, John,” she said, and Weaver couldn’t remember when he’d given her his first name, but he knew that she was the only person who ever used it and he liked that she knew something about him that no-one else did.

“I know that.” He sighed, wishing that he knew how to impress upon Izzie the importance of what he had felt, even if he didn’t quite understand the importance of it himself yet.

“It’s perfectly possible that you’ve seen her somewhere before, and something about her stayed with you, and now you’ve met her again and she seems familiar.”

Weaver shook his head. As much as he wanted a rational explanation for it all, Izzie’s wouldn’t work.

“She’s Australian and this is her first time in the States. There’s no way I could have met her before.”

“Well, maybe you saw a relative.” Izzie patted his hand in reassurance, and despite himself, Weaver caught her fingers, not wanting her to let go. When his world stopped making sense like it had done today, Izzie was always the one thing that remained constant, grounding him in reality when his mind went into overdrive. Weaver had always considered himself to be a practical man not much given to flights of fancy, but there was something about those familiar eyes that he simply couldn’t explain away.

Izzie gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze and pressed a soft little kiss to his cheek. If Weaver didn’t know better, then he’d say that he blushed.

The second time it happened, Weaver was frightened. Not because he’d seen the familiar eyes again, but because of who they belonged to this time. Izzie was wearing a bright green dress under her uniform apron that night, and her hair was loose. Weaver wondered briefly if she had a date that he would be keeping her from, but the thought was soon chased away by the weight of everything else that had happened during the day.

As soon as she saw him through the window, Izzie knew that something was wrong, and she abandoned the mop to come and unlock the doors and let him in.

“John, what’s wrong?”

At first he couldn’t speak. Izzie had been sceptical the first time he had felt this, and although he knew she would be sympathetic to his fear now, he didn’t want her to think that he was going mad.

“We caught the killer,” he said eventually. Izzie just nodded her understanding and steered him over to the nearest table, taking the chairs down off it and going to start up the coffee machine. As she worked, Weaver took a while to gather his thoughts and try to make sense of it all.

He’d been working the grizzly homicide for a few days now. Murder no longer affected him in the same way it used to, even this more gruesome example.  No, it was the murderer who had unnerved him the most. She had been so morbidly cheerful, practically skipping along as they led her to the interview room. That in itself was disturbing enough, but when he got his first glimpse of her brilliant blue eyes, it had taken all of his composure not to startle. The Hierophant Killer had the same eyes as the taxi-jack victim from three months ago, the same eyes that he had seen before somewhere. The familiarity was uncanny, and the fact that this time it had come in a pint-sized serial killer package was disturbing to say the least.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Izzie said softly. “I’m sure there’s a good explanation for it. Weaver was leaning against her, glad of her sensible, stoic presence beside him. It felt like she was the only thing keeping him sane. She put an arm around his shoulders, and he didn’t shrug her off. It was comforting to know that even if she didn’t entirely understand what was going on, she was on his side.  _We’ll get to the bottom of it._

Izzie held him until they could stretch out the moment of security no longer, and he walked her home.

The third time it happened, Izzie witnessed it first-hand. She was the one who’d called it in, after the coffee shop had closed for the night and Weaver and the dispatcher were the only ones left in the station. Naturally, since the call was from Izzie and Weaver didn’t have anything else to do (a blatant lie, but he’d always drop everything for Izzie), he took care of the case personally.

She was waiting for him by the door, looking pensive. Her hair was in a ponytail today, the silver streak almost sparkling in the light.

“She’s through here. I found her sleeping out by the bins.”

Izzie led the way into the storeroom. The girl was certainly striking with her pastel-stained hair and piercings, and she could barely have been eighteen. A rebellious runaway who’d ended up sleeping rough behind coffee shops. She was scarfing down stale muffins as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe she hadn’t.

“Ava, this is my friend John. Maybe he can help you.”

The girl scoffed. “No-one’s ever been able to help me before.” She looked Weaver up and down, and his breath caught in his throat as he recognised the eyes of the Hierophant Killer, the eyes of the pregnant Miss Littleton, the eyes he’d seen before elsewhere, in another life, in another time.

“Are you a cop?” Ava asked when he continued just to stare at her dumbfounded.

“Detective,” he managed eventually.

The girl shook her head. “There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing I want you to do. Thanks for the muffins, but I really ought to be going now.”

“Please don’t leave,” Izzie begged. “It’s dangerous out there.”

Ava shrugged. “I’ve been homeless my entire life. Not died yet.”

“John, can’t you do something?”

“Like what, arrest me?” Ava’s voice was brittle, sad, and her eyes were so hurt and  _that hurt was so familiar; he’d seen it before in the same eyes in a different face._

“Izzie, we can’t make her stay here if she wants to leave,” he said gently. Izzie looked pained.

“Well, at least take some of his food,” she said, beginning to stuff old muffins and cookies and sandwiches into paper bags and shoving them at Ava. “It’s only going in the trash otherwise.”

Weaver had never really noticed Izzie’s intense need to mother young ones before, but after he saw her desperate need to protect Ava, he couldn’t unsee it.

Maybe there was a different kind of familiarity at play here, a child who was no longer in the picture.

Once Ava had vanished into the night again, bound for who knew where and hopefully not the morgue, Izzie crumpled. Weaver held her until she was calm again, and they sat in the coffee shop until well into the night.

“You recognised her eyes, didn’t you?” Izzie said presently, before blowing her nose again.

“Yes. Did you?” Weaver tried not to sound too hopeful.

“No. But I could tell that you did. Funny how the world works, isn’t it?”

Weaver knew better than to ask her about motherhood. If her instinct was anything like his recognition, then she probably wouldn’t even know.

There was something going on. The universe was trying to tell them something. Weaver just couldn’t put his finger on what.

The fourth and final time it happened it came out of the blue. Not that the other occasions hadn’t caught him by surprise, but they had all been within the purview of his normal police work. He didn’t know what possessed him to go to Roni’s that night. He wasn’t a big drinker. Well, he didn’t often go out, that was probably a better way of putting it. Still, something had made him wend his way towards Roni’s and take a seat at the bar.

“Can I buy you a drink, detective?”

She was wearing a black mini-skirt and a blue backless shirt, and Weaver remembered seeing her hustling pool somewhere although Roni’s didn’t have a pool table. She had long brown hair, and exactly the same blue eyes as runaway Ava, the Hierophant Killer, and pregnant Miss Littleton. This time, Weaver wasn’t unnerved anymore. He wasn’t even really surprised. He was just intrigued.

He accepted the offer of a drink, perhaps in the hope that he would learn what it was that the universe actually had to say.

Her name was Lacey, and she was new in town. Of course, because he’d never seen her here before even if he’d known her eyes for a lifetime. Perhaps in another life he’d have responded to her flirting and taken her up on her not so subtle suggestion to go home with her. Something felt wrong. Her eyes seemed wrong, or rather, they were right and everything else was wrong. The more he talked to Lacey, the more he wanted to talk to Izzie. Izzie, whose true eyes he had never seen behind her tinted glasses.

God, he’d been slowly falling in love with her for years and he hadn’t even noticed.

Weaver pulled out his phone and tapped out a message to Izzie. He couldn’t remember when he’d got her number.

_Can we talk please? Something’s going on. I think I know what it all means now, with the eyes._

“You ok, Detective?”

He looked up at Lacey.

“Yes… No… I’m sure you’re a lovely girl, but…”

“But there’s someone else,” Lacey finished for him. She didn’t seem at all put out, in fact, there was a smile on her face. “Go to her.”

Izzie’s reply buzzed in.

_Of course. Come on over. I’ll make coffee._

When he looked up again, Lacey was gone. Of course she was. He’d never seen any of the others again after their first meetings, after all.

Sleepless Beauty was locked and dark when Weaver got there, and it took him several moments to realise that Izzie had invited him to her flat. Hopefully the coffee wouldn’t have gone cold.

Izzie was wearing her pyjamas when she answered the door. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and she looked at him with Lacey’s eyes, Ava’s eyes, the Hierophant’s eyes, Claire Littleton’s eyes.

Just as, deep down, he had always known that she would.

He’d seen those eyes before, in a different life that felt so close he could almost reach out and touch it.

It reached out and touched him instead, as Izzie gently placed a hand on his cheek.

“John? What’s going on?”

“Do you believe in past lives?”

“John, what’s that got to do with anything?”

“I think I knew you in a past life. I think… I think that’s what the universe has been trying to tell me, that we belong together. They’re your eyes I keep recognising, Izzie.”

“Oh John…”

The kiss was something else. It was soft, and chaste, and tentative, but the sheer power of it was phenomenal. Weaver remembered that power from years ago, a dark castle, a dark curse, a spinning wheel.

“Rumpel!”

This time, Izzie really went for it, except she wasn’t Izzie, she was Belle, and they were Belle’s eyes that had led him back to Izzie. Not a past life, but the same life in the past, before the new curse had brought them to Hyperion Heights.

“I knew you’d find me,” Belle said when she finally let him breathe. “You said something about a trail of breadcrumbs.”

She sighed with happiness, resting her head against his chest. Lacey, Ava, Hierophant, Claire… They had been the breadcrumbs, knowing that Belle’s eyes would be the same in whatever world they found themselves in.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t quite believe that the gamble had paid off, but he was too grateful to think too deeply into it. The curse had been broken. He and Belle were reunited, and he knew that her eyes would haunt him no longer.


End file.
